


Force of Nature

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Universe, Collars, D/s-verse, Dom Victor Nikiforov, Kneeling, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Sub Katsuki Yuuri, Subspace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: xxskatelyfe94SO CUTE #ShouchansCollar I wonder if they’ll meet up when Katsuki-san returns to Japan? wwmeteorlite7Wait Katsuki-san is listed as a switch!? BULLSHIT. Skating fed’s too scared of doms that skate, trying to hide his powerlevel. We see you ISU #shouchanscollar #domsfigureskatetoorawmekatsuki#ShouchansCollar katsuki-san would never go for a half-rate teen idol, get a grip. He skates with so many pretty skating subs every day!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Athra, Auri, and Hudebuc.
> 
> D/s-verse is similar to abo in that people present as doms, subs, or switches and that type of statistic is public and not scandalous.

“Mr. Katsuki, congratulations on making it to the Grand Prix Final! Your fans and supporters are excited to see you represent Japan in this event. You’ve had a few spectacular wins this season, how are you planning to keep the momentum going?”

There are a lot more reporters than normal, drawn to Yuuri’s success. He leans in to the microphone and gives quiet thanks to the fact that there is a table separating him and the other medalists from the crowd. The rush of making it to the final has his heart racing still. “I’ll keep working hard to be worthy of everyone’s support.”

_I’ll win gold at the Grand Prix Final,_ he wants to declare, but something holds him back.

“Mr. Katsuki!” A young reporter pushes his way to the front. His flashy red suit stands out in the sea of conservative black ones. “Any comments on Shou-chan’s recent confession to you?”

Yuuri blinks. “Shou-chan?”

Usually the reporters try to at least keep the questions skating-related. Is he in Juniors, perhaps?

The flashy reporter continues on, undeterred. “His recent vlog cited you as his top celebrity crush, and he revealed that he was thinking of you in his latest hit song _Put a Collar on Me._ ”

An idol!? Yuuri clears his throat. “Ah. I’ve been training in the US for the last few years, so I can’t say I’m in touch with the news back home.”

Yuuri’s eyes flick to the other medalists sitting at his side. Don’t the reporters have any questions for them, too?

“You’ve been training in Detroit with coach Celestino and you’re a favorite for Japan to win,” another reporter cuts in. She’s young, with close-cropped hair and a smart suit. Yuuri welcomes the return to the correct topic. “Do you find it difficult to meet your needs in the US versus Japan?”

“My needs?” Oh. _Oh._ Foreign reporters are so much more bold than the ones at home, who would never dare to comment on his _needs._ Yuuri feels his face freeze.

Celestino steps in, thankfully, putting his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “My skater is very busy in the middle of the competitive season. We have no further comments on the matter.”

Questions thankfully move on to the other medalists.

 

* * *

 

_xxskatelyfe94_

_SO CUTE #ShouchansCollar I wonder if they’ll meet up when Katsuki-san returns to Japan? ww_

_shouchansuperfan_

_#ShouchansCollar should go to someone who actually appreciates him. Katsuki’s response was WAY TOO COLD #ShouchanDeservesBetter_

_meteorlite7_

_Wait Katsuki-san is listed as a switch!? BULLSHIT. Skating fed’s too scared of doms that skate, trying to hide his powerlevel. We see you ISU #shouchanscollar #domsfigureskatetoo_

_rawmekatsuki_

_#ShouchansCollar katsuki-san would never go for a half-rate teen idol, get a grip. He skates with so many pretty skating subs every day!_

It’s trending on Japanese twitter, Phichit informs him. He shares a few bad photoshop manips of the two of them together -- shots Shou-chan from his _Put a Collar on Me_ music video, kneeling and looking up at a screencap of Yuuri at the end of his skate, hair pushed back and eyes squinting without his glasses. Often the two of them are surrounded by animated sparkling hearts.

Phichit thinks it’s hilarious. Yuuri less so.

Rumors of Yuuri being a dom have persisted for years, especially online. Japanese culture is more reserved in discussions of people’s _needs,_ but as Yuuri made more appearances at international competitions gossip and speculation naturally followed. Who he kneels for (no one) and who kneels for him (also no one) seems like an inconsequential thing for people to focus on. Yuuri avoids social media even more just because he’s uncomfortable with that lens people view him with.

Human connection has never been his strong suit. Although health classes always stress the importance of taking time to identify and care for your _needs,_ thus far he’s gotten away without addressing any of it.

 

* * *

 

The GPF is the biggest disaster of his skating career in so many ways. Yuuri _hates_ losing, he always has, but it’s so much more than that. The loss of Vicchan is a hot knife in his chest, shattering his focus into sparkling shards at the most critical time. The more he tried to push it down and hide, attempting to delay the breakdown by a few more hours, the worse he spiraled. Yuuri only wants to reveal the best parts of himself, concealing away his crippling weakness where no one can smother him with their opinions.

He failed. He failed in a spectacular fashion: in front of his coach, his supporters, and his family at home. And also in front of the person who he so desperately wanted to send a message to.

Viktor Nikiforov has been his inspiration since childhood. He boldly played with people’s expectations, skating with long hair to a song about power and control and then cutting his hair short and masculine the next season to soulfully skate about surrender. Through his work Yuuri hoped to one day send something back through his own skating, a feeling that Viktor would understand.

A stupid dream and it’ll all but dead now.

Celestino cajoles him into attending the banquet afterwards with promises that all he’ll have to do is hang around for a few hours and clap politely at any speeches given. Yuuri lurks near the back of the room and indulges in a little too much champagne.

Knowing full well his family history with regards to drinking, Yuuri strictly limits himself at skating events. Not tonight, though. After a few too many glasses he feels the sharp edges of his anxiety melt away, so he keeps going. What’s there to lose?

The world is syrupy and slow. He doesn’t have to think for once, which is nice, so he dances, he dances a lot. He dances with the angry Yuri, he dances with _Viktor,_ he dances on a convenient pole with Chris.

Everything is lovely and everything temporarily doesn’t hurt. Oh, that’s a lie. It still hurts. _Vicchan._ Yuuri drinks straight from the bottle.

When his brain is finally numb enough that the buzzing is gone, he realizes he has wrapped his arms around Viktor. He’s warm and solid and smells really nice. Viktor is so good. He’s so far beyond Yuuri that it doesn’t even matter what Yuuri tells him. It’s like a prayer to a god, you tell them your wishes. So he says, please, be my coach, Viktor, please, take care of me, I want to be yours.

He’s never dared to speak it aloud before, his greatest desire. It feels good to get it out in the open, to push that absurdity onto the altar, into the air, to clap his hands, bow his head, and let it go.

Clapping unbalances him. Yuuri almost falls smack into the shiny ballroom floor, if not for someone catching him around the waist in a passable dip. Yuuri leans into it, kicking up one foot and pointing his toes.

“Careful, Yuuri!” He’s pulled back upright. The person holding him is Viktor Nikiforov. God, he’s beautiful.

“Maybe it’s time to get our little dancer back to his room.” Chris is here too, mostly naked. This feels normal somehow.

“Have you seen his coach?” Viktor asks. Yuuri wraps both his arms around him for balance and also because he doesn’t want to miss the chance.

“No, I haven’t for a while now.” Chris scans the room.

“I think we’re all staying on the same floor this year. I’ll take him upstairs,” Viktor says. Yuuri lets the words pass him by, focusing instead on the vibrations he feels through Viktor’s chest.

Chris finds his suit jacket somewhere and drapes it over Yuuri’s shoulders and Viktor takes the tie off his head.

“Which room is yours?”

Yuuri startles and opens his eyes. They’re in a hotel hallway: plush red carpet and rows of doors.

“I don’t know.” Each door looks the same, bland and uniform.

Yuuri pats his pockets until he locates the rectangle of his room key. There’s no room number on it, even when he brings it close to his face and squints. Viktor gently pulls it out of his hand, and it feels good to let someone else take care of it. Yuuri sags further against his shoulder and closes his eyes again.

They walk slowly, Yuuri trusting Viktor to guide him, trying the key against each door until one unlocks with a click.

“My room,” Yuuri says helpfully.

“That it is.” Viktor turns on the light and walks him in. Housekeeping has come and gone. The bed is crisply made and the garbage can, previously full of take out boxes and used tissues, is empty. A small blessing. He doesn’t want Viktor to see that messy part of him too.

“Which room is your coach’s?” Viktor asks. “I want to let him know you got back alright.”

“He’s probably asleep.” The bad memories of this room are making Yuuri feel much more sober. “I’ll text him.”

He pulls out his phone and the photo on the lockscreen stabs him straight in the heart, sharp and hot and fresh. Yuuri sits down abruptly, right on the carpeted floor, setting his phone face down beside him.

“I think Chris has his number. I’ll have him text.” Viktor sounds awkward. He holds out a hand to help Yuuri up.

Instead of taking it, Yuuri leans forward and rests his head on Viktor’s thigh. “Please,” he begs, “please let me be yours.”

Sober Yuuri would never submit like this–and it is submission, truly, as he kneels at Viktor’s feet. He never wanted anyone to see him this way, to witness the height of his greed.

“You want me to coach you,” Viktor says. There’s something strange in his voice. “Lots of people have asked, you know. For my choreography, for my advice, for my attention.”

“No,” Yuuri insists. Yes, he wants all that, just like everyone else does. But it’s more than that, too.

“No?” It’s hard to make out Viktor’s expression.

The entire skating world feels entitled to Viktor, their bright star, invincible and untouchable. Yuuri refuses to be another useless, grasping fan. He wants to be in the same place Viktor is. He wants to say, _I heard you._

“I’ll show you,” Yuuri promises. “Wait for me.”

“All right, Yuuri,” Viktor says. He puts his hand against Yuuri’s hair. “I’ll be waiting.”

Everything is too heavy, suddenly.

“Get some sleep.” Viktor says. It feels good to kneel at his feet and obey.

“Yes, Viktor.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to Athra and Ren for their typo-spotting skills <3

It’s hard to believe it’s really happening. Yuuri is equally delighted and mortified.

The second day, when Yuuri wakes up to the soft sounds of Makkachin walking on the hardwood floors, and then sits down blearily next to Viktor for breakfast, he’s still in a state of shock. Viktor wears one of the inn’s green robes like it was made just for him.

“Very delicious!” Viktor Nikiforov tells his mother, a piece of tamagoyaki held between his chopsticks. “Thank you!”

The way he holds the chopsticks is unpracticed, his grip just a little off.

“Eat as much as you like, Vicchan.” His mother bustles between tables at their suddenly much busier inn. Having a celebrity guest will do that.

“So, Yuuri,” Viktor begins. His blue eyes are bright and sharp, Yuuri shifts his gaze back down to his own food quickly.

“Yes?”

“If I’m going to be your coach from now on, you have to understand that I don’t work with people who have given up. After breakfast, show me your training schedule and your meal plan.” Viktor takes a bite of his tamagoyaki, smiling and blunt. “Ah, this _is_ delicious. Wow. I understand the weight problem.”

Even after living in America for years, which should have in theory vaccinated him against such direct speech, Yuuri’s Japanese sensibilities are ruffled. He bristles instinctually, then deflates just as quickly.

“Since I just moved back to Hasetsu, I don’t have a firm schedule right now.” Yuuri admits. He shifts, guilty at his own lack of structure. “I know the owners of our local rink, so I should be able to work something out with them.”

“We’ll figure that out first, then.” Viktor picks up his soup bowl and finishes his miso with obvious delight, while Yuuri sets his chopsticks down, appetite gone. His life really has become such a tangled mess.

“I’ll go get a notebook so we can start to plan,” Yuuri says. He buses his own tray and wonders if he can coordinate quickly with Yuuko over text; she’s going to be so excited that Viktor is here at her rink. The triplets are going to lose their minds.

When he returns to the now nearly-empty dining room, Viktor is all done eating and the table is clear. Their inn is traditional in that guests sit on small, square zabuton near low tables. One of the earliest chores Yuuri had been given in childhood was stacking the cushions into piles, plain green ones all together and the specially patterned white ones in a smaller stack nearby.

Viktor has one of the white zabuton at his right side, empty. He smiles at Yuuri and pats it.

There must be a cultural misunderstanding. Yuuri glances around to see if anyone else has noticed and is relieved that the few remaining people in the room aren’t paying attention. There’s a Sagan Tosu game playing on the television that is much more absorbing than a foreigner choosing the wrong cushion, surely.

Gingerly, Yuuri sits down next to Viktor and lays out his notebook. He’ll explain later, in private. These white ones are specifically for subs, meant to be set at their dom’s side.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is almost, _almost_ getting used to Viktor now, after some desensitization. He’s absolutely savage, and hadn’t let his student on the ice until he made it back to competition weight, but he’s very sweet too. Viktor doesn’t do things by halves and Yuuri appreciates that. He’s excited about Hasetsu Castle, even though it’s just a facade, and wants to know everything about the town, its people, and Yuuri specifically.

His attention is intoxicating. Yuuri retreats in the only way he knows how: avoidance.

It’s a shame that his first day back on the ice is the same day Yuri Plisetsky storms in and challenges him to a duel for Viktor’s time.

Viktor gives him _Eros_ : bold, seductive, all about power and control. It couldn’t be any more unsuitable for Yuuri and the internet is going to absolutely eat it up.

Yuri is even more irritated, bringing it up again over dinner. At least they all had green cushions tonight. Viktor had gotten a white one out for Yuuri a few more times, and Yuuri had quietly swapped it out for green until Viktor got the hint. “All this ‘innocence’ crap makes me sick. You’re just going to play into the bullshit that they already push onto me.”

“No one gets to choose their image, Yuri, and you’re no exception to that. People will think what they want to think.”

“I thought you of all people would understand.” Yuri stabs a piece of meat with the fork they’d found for him. “It’s gross.”

“How do you feel about it, Yuuri? Do you have a problem with _Eros_?”

Any skater would kill for a chance to perform a program designed by Viktor. Yuuri is by no means ungrateful. It’s just… “No problem, no problem! I’ve just never done something like it before.”

“Is that so?” Viktor’s hand on his chin is startling. Yuuri’s breath catches in his chest at the touch of his soft fingers. When did he get so close? “So you’re saying you’ve never done anything seductive, Yuuri?”

“Um!”

Yuri has the gall to laugh at him, breaking the moment enough for Yuuri to skitter away under the pretense of clearing their dishes, heart beating fast.

He can still hear their conversation from the kitchen, and although he knows it’s rude to eavesdrop, Yuuri perhaps takes a bit longer clearing the plates than necessary.

“I refuse to be stuck doing all that sub shit they pushed on you, Viktor.” He sounds angry, yes, but also young and tired.

“Oho, has the little tiger presented while I was away?”

“ _No._ I don’t have time for any of that stuff right now.”

“Whether you have time or not, it isn’t something you can just ignore when it happens.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Viktor, with his long hair and breathtaking features, is widely regarded as one of the most eligible male subs in the world. Even though he’s never been seen so much as kneeling or bowing his head in public, much less wearing a collar. Although his skates sometimes mimed dom/sub themes, officially he’s listed as a switch just like Yuuri. The RSF probably has the same plans for Yuri, once he’s in seniors, due to the simple fact that subs score higher. Judge’s bias.

The inn is still very busy, so there are other customers in their main room, eating and talking amiably. A few of the white cushions are being put to their proper use.

Yuuri sets the fresh notebook on the table and hands Viktor a pen. Viktor starts planning immediately, his English penmanship flowing smooth and perfect.

Eros. Sexual love. Power, control, and seduction.

He had hoped that maybe Viktor would see him as no one else has, from Viktor’s own experience at being pressed into an ill-fitting mould, but with Eros as his skate, it seems not.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is extremely grateful that the Nishigoris gave him his own key, because without the release of skating, he isn’t sure he’d make it. His nerves are buzzing under his skin, and his mind is half-full of static. Skating gives him some measure of control, however feeble.

 _Eros_ isn’t working. No matter how much he frames it with katsudon and other distracting, useless metaphors, Yuuri can’t embody such a blatant lie.

The playboy waltzes in, takes control, seduces the woman utterly and then abandons her in the cruelest way. Sure, his coaches have picked all his past programs, but he’d always been able to relate to the stories within them at least a little. Yuuri can’t put himself into that playboy’s shoes, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t _feel_ _Eros_ like that, and he knows that half-assed metaphors about the egg entangling with the rice aren’t going to keep Viktor Nikiforov in Japan, at his side.

The ice is smooth and clear, freshly resurfaced as he skates out to the center. With the lights dimmed, the rows of seating at the edges fade to black along with the ceiling. It’s the perfect place for Yuuri to slip into compulsory figures. Repetitive, old-fashioned, and wholly uncreative, they aren’t used in regular competitions for good reason. Yuuri’s coach when he was a child insisted her skaters learn them to acquire proper form and solidify their basics. What had been a chore to everyone else became a favorite of Yuuri’s immediately.

The mental energy required to skate loop after perfect loop takes up every bit of his bandwidth. His worries fade out into the shadows, chased away by the sound of blades on ice and the feeling of cold air in his lungs. Yuuri loses track of time and himself as he traces the patterns.

It’s peaceful, meditative. Clean. There are no choices to be made, each movement is already decided.

“So that’s how you do it.”

It’s a sign of how deep he’s fallen into the figures that Yuuri doesn’t startle. He finishes his loop and then turns to the sound of Viktor’s voice. It’s hard to make out much more than his silver hair in the dimness and without glasses.

“How I do what?” Yuuri skates to the rink edge. His tired muscles make themselves known, complaining fiercely. How long has it been?

Viktor has his finger on his lips and his eyes are bright. Now that he’s closer, he can see Viktor is in the same elegant clothing he wore when he left for the bar after dinner, albeit with a slightly looser tie.

“I have to admit it is a surprise. I’ve never seen anyone give the ice their submission like that, and think it’s a shame that it can’t appreciate your gift.”

The calm inside him cracks all at once. He opens his mouth to protest, but can’t come up with anything. His submission? _To the ice?_

“Am I the first to notice? That can’t be.” Viktor holds out his hand. “Your coach says that’s enough for tonight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yuuri says, refusing to address what Viktor is implying. He takes off his gloves and sets them in Viktor’s waiting hand, then skates to the door and puts on his guards. Viktor doesn’t push, instead watching him get ready with a thoughtful expression.

“What time is it?” Yuuri’s mouth feels dry. Now that he’s stopped moving, the chill is creeping in as well.

“Almost midnight.” Viktor grabs Yuuri’s jacket from its neat pile on the bench and drapes it Yuuri’s shoulders.

He’s been at it for _hours_. No wonder Viktor had gone looking for him. “I thought you were out having drinks?”

“I was! They were delicious.” Viktor’s smile is still press-ready. “I got back and you weren’t home. What’s a responsible coach to do?”

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Yuuri says, bowing his head.

“Is there a reason you had the urge to skate figures?”

“I just like to.” The basic drills should be below him, but he’s always enjoyed the discipline of it. Yuuri flushes and finishes off drying and packing his gear.

Hasetsu is a sleepy town, especially at midnight. Thankfully it’s much warmer outside than in the rink. Yuuri’s glasses fog up instantly as they begin their quiet walk back to Yutopia and he wipes them absently on his shirt.

“Do you know why I’m so confident you can skate _Eros_?” Viktor asks. The moonlight makes his hair glow like spun silver. He doesn’t look real.

“I don’t have the slightest clue,” Yuuri admits. Viktor saw one video of Yuuri performing his routine and rushed across the world. Anyone that would make such a crazy decision can’t be predicted.

“It’s perfect for you. You have so much passion that it slips out at the edges when you don’t mean it to.”

“I think you’re talking about yourself, not me.” Yuuri says, tired enough to not blunt his words.

Viktor _laughs_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! 
> 
> Thank you so much to Clear for beta-ing <3

Sending their luggage ahead to the regional championships was simple and efficient. Taking the train with Viktor across the country was anything but.

Wholly unconcerned for Yuuri’s first skating appearance since he crashed at Nationals, Viktor treats the the entire trip like a tourist excursion. They already have three bags of expensive _omiyage_. Yuuri is carrying the bags as Viktor looks at more even more, delighted by the compact shops within the bigger station. At least the brightly-wrapped boxes of chocolates and cookies aren’t heavy, and he is sure his parents will appreciate them.

They’re killing time before the bullet train that will take them the rest of the way to their destination. The special lobby area is much fancier than the waiting areas for regular trains, and has a booth for one of Yuuri’s favorite cake shops within. He’s eyeing the strawberry shortcake, with its shiny, perfect berry on top, and wondering if he wins gold Viktor will let him cheat on his meal plan just a tiny bit when they come back through this station, when Viktor appears at his side with another gift bag.

“What’s that?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri flushes, guilty.

“Nothing,” Yuuri is quick to say. “Do you want to wait up on the platform? It’s almost time.”

“We still have plenty of time,” Viktor says, waving him off, smiling. “More than an hour.”

“Let’s put these gifts in our luggage, at least.” Yuuri says. They walk over to a small bench and redistribute the packages in their small wheeled bags.

“Are those places to rest? Would you like to rent one?” Viktor gestures to the display they’re standing by. Rooms and prices are laid out in a detailed list, but the only parts in English are “rest” and “per hour”.

“Oh! No. We shouldn’t, um. They’re not for us.” God, they’re really not. Honestly they shouldn’t even be standing in front of this door -- what if the press got a photo of them in front of a love hotel? Yuuri looks around, paranoid.

Viktor stays steady. He has that same light in his eyes when they’d visited the ninja castle, and when they’d attended the summer festival together -- excited to learn everything about the culture here. “Why not? What’s it for?”

Viktor won’t let it go, either, Yuuri knows. His chest heaves in a sigh, with truth as his only option. “It’s for pairs that want to take care of their needs,” Yuuri explains, emphasizing _needs_. “And want somewhere private for a few hours while they’re travelling.”

“How convenient!” Viktor says, after a moment to take that in. “Japan thinks of everything, hmm?” There’s a light blush on Viktor’s pale cheeks, though. He really hadn’t known.

“Yes.” Yuuri coughs to cover his awkwardness and looks around for a better place to wait in the crowded terminal.

“Have you ever used one?” Viktor asks.

_“No,”_ Yuuri says, incredulous. He quickly diverts. “Ah, I just remembered, there’s a teashop here that my mother loves. I should go pick up a box for her.”

Viktor kindly lets him get away with it.

 

* * *

 

The bullet train is smooth and quiet as it glides lightning-fast across the countryside. A smiling attendant pushes the cart through the aisle, offering snacks for a small fee. She’s wearing an elegant black leather collar with the Coach logo embossed in it, worth a small fortune in neckwear.

The man across the aisle is wearing a plain, unbranded version with a shiny gold clasp. That type of fashion is always more popular in the big cities than it is in a small place like Hasetsu. In Detroit, it wasn’t uncommon to see sparkly jeweled collars, or eye-blinding neon, or ones made of delicate lace, so Yuuri isn’t sure why he’s noticing so much.

That’s a lie. But he doesn’t want to confront it, not yet.

_Stop it,_ he thinks, _stop it right now. Focus._

 

* * *

 

This regional competition demanded Yuuri’s serious attention. After his abysmal performance at Nationals last year, absolutely anything had been possible. His road to the GPF could have ended right there, to a group of far younger, brighter stars.

Viktor was much more concerned with his own brand new suit and his debut as coach, which helped in a weird way. It didn’t even register to Viktor that Yuuri could do anything less than perfect, and that belief was a firm anchor.

“Did that feel good, Yuuri?” Viktor asks. They’re sitting in the terminal again, waiting for another train. The trip is about 6 hours one way, and Yuuri is happy and tired.

“It was the most fun I’ve had in a competition in ages,” Yuuri says. He’s still smiling.

“Perfect.”

“How about you?” Yuuri asks, tilting his head to look up at Viktor, who is seated beside him. “I know it’s nothing glamorous, being a coach at a small competition.”

Viktor presses one finger to his own lips, a habit of his. “Did you know, no one asked me if I was going to retire even once? It was very relaxing.”

Yuuri winces.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri took solace in the fact that while Viktor definitely watched his theme reveal in the inn’s main room with the rest of his family, the entire embarrassing thing had been in Japanese and thus mostly unintelligible to him. He counted it as a small victory, right up until Yuuri found the entire thing translated and screencapped across social media.

skateEDGE26

_GET YOU A MAN WHO: will declare his love and dedicate his skating season to you_

rawmekatsuki

_Katsu-daddy pls say you love me too ;w; I’LL BEG #katsukinikiforov #fs_

prettiest_subforov

_Vitya looks sooooo good in his new coach outfit. Katsuki is way out of his league 凸(￣ヘ￣) #fs_

skating_news

_Japan’s @katsuki-yuuri declares his theme this season is “Love” -- and specifically mentions his new coach, @v-nikiforov! #fs_

Viktor _retweeted_ that last one.

“Yuuri, can you help me with this?” Mari asks from the doorway to his bedroom. He hadn’t even heard her approach. He drops his phone, guilty.

“Yes!”

Folding towels is another repetitive task that he could do in his sleep. The inn always has a mountain of them to deal with each day, and since Viktor came and brought more traffic the towering stacks have only grown higher. Luckily, Viktor helps with the extra work he’s caused.

Viktor and Yuuri sit together in comfortable quiet, thigh-to-thigh even though there is much more room available to spread out. To exist in this familiar way with someone so central to his life… sometimes it’s hard to believe. The months they’ve spent together training together and living together smoothed over Yuuri’s fears enough that he’s comfortable correcting Viktor on the little things -- the inn only stacks towels this high, the tables are set up like so.

“How old were you when you first started helping out around here?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri smiles. “Maybe five? This was one of the first tasks I had, since it’s so simple.”

“You couldn’t have been much bigger than the stack of towels. Cute.”

“What was your first chore at home?” Yuuri is curious, especially because Viktor never talks about his family in anything but the broadest terms.

“You know, I never really had any chores. It was a life of leisure for me!” Viktor’s smile is wrong at the edges.

“Lucky.” Yuuri lets him keep the lie. According to the many skating magazines hidden in a box at the back of Yuuri’s closet, Viktor has been skating intensely since he was old enough to walk. That didn’t leave time for much else.

Viktor used to ask him about his love life when he first got here, but has long since given up. Yuuri wants him to ask again. With how comfortable they’ve become, Viktor might even get an answer.

 

* * *

 

The scenery is hazy, indistinct, but Viktor is solid and real, right down to the smell of his cologne.

“Take off your pants,” Viktor says. His voice is liquid steel. Yuuri feels it in his spine.

Obedience isn’t a question. Yuuri fumbles with his sweatpants and pushes them down to his knees, already feeling his breathing quicken. He steps out of them awkwardly and tosses them away.

“Underwear, too,” Viktor says. He puts his big palms on Yuuri’s bare hip bones as Yuuri pulls the last of his clothing off, and his touch is like fire.

Yuuri’s hard, but how can he not be? Viktor’s on his knees before him, eyeing his erection with his gorgeous blue gaze. Viktor licks his lips. Yuuri swallows.

“Beautiful,” Viktor says. Yuuri can feel his breath on his cock. “Now put your hand in my hair, darling, and fuck my mouth.”

Viktor’s hair is soft and fine, spun silver between his fingers. Viktor presses a kiss to the head of Yuuri’s cock before swallowing him down. It’s amazing. It’s terrifying.

Yuuri wakes up, hard and wanting.

What the hell is he _doing_.

In his bed, alone, Yuuri pulls down his boxers and takes his cock in his hand, stroking up and down. He’s had wet dreams about Viktor since he was a teen, but they have taken on an unfair level of detail now that he knows Viktor so well. The exact curve of his eyelashes are so much more beautiful than photos were ever able to capture, and the physical reality of him, his scent and stature, his real laugh…

It isn’t long before he’s coming against his belly.

Yuuri’s life would be a lot more clear cut if his preferences could just pick a clear-cut box. The idea of giving so much of himself to someone, the vulnerability and the trust -- when Yuuri tried to put himself in the shoes of a sub, or even a dom, he’d hit a mental wall so big and strong that nothing could penetrate.

With Viktor, Yuuri’s heart wants to roll over and show its belly. He longs to hear, _“Perfect, Yuuri!”_ in a very different context. If there is anyone in this world Yuuri wants to give himself to and be there for, it is Viktor Nikiforov.

Fear is a powerful force. Hope is even stronger. He wants Viktor, every bit of him.

_Don’t be so greedy,_ Yuuri pleads with his selfish heart. _He’s only mine for now._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay!

Yuuri wakes up one morning, a week before the Cup of China, and knows what’s happened before he even opens his eyes. He takes a few minutes attempting to will it away, but reality holds firm. His legs, when he shifts them experimentally, feel heavy, not merely with sleep. His throat is sore and dry. Despite the fact that he has kicked his blankets off sometime in the night, he feels stiflingly hot.

It’s the worst time to get sick, but it does make sense. He’s always been sensitive around the changing of the seasons.

Yuuri recovers quickly from illness, thankfully, and this will probably be the same. What he’s mostly annoyed at is the fact that this will force him to miss a day or two on the ice, and so close to his first qualifying competition…

Maybe Viktor won’t notice.

After more than an hour at the rink and countless missed jumps, Yuuri feels contradictorily disappointed that he hasn’t noticed. Critiques continue to come in, blunt and as always, very fair. Viktor calls it like he sees it, and what he’s seeing today on this ice isn’t good at all.

Underotated. Sloppy entry. Again, again. Still, a challenge is a challenge, and every moment with Viktor is a gift. He pushes through.

“All right, Yuuri.” Viktor just sounds tired. “Let’s cool down.”

Even though he’s frustrated, Yuuri switches into the slow routine at the end of his session, feeling his heartbeat calm back to normal. Without the challenge, the ache in his head and muscles jumps back to the forefront, and the chill seeps begins to seep in at his sweaty neck.

It isn’t until he’s sitting on a bench in his socks and drinking Viktor-provided water that he really starts to feel the unnatural silence between them. The chill of it is greater than that of the rink.

He glances at Viktor sideways.

Viktor smiles without it reaching his eyes. “Is there something you’d like to share with me?”

Yuuri winces. “I promise I’ll perform better tomorrow.”

It wasn’t the right answer. Viktor doesn’t look _mad_ , not that he ever does, but the tension is even thicker, adding to the pounding in his own head.

They both pack up, carefully tending their skates and filling their bags in the quiet. It’s still fairly early in the morning, before Ice Castle’s official open. Yuuri pictures his own bed and fantasizes furiously about its soft sheets and fluffy pillows.

“How about some off-ice training?” Viktor says, as they step out into the morning sunlight. “We haven’t jogged those steps in a while.”

The sun’s so bright it hurts Yuuri’s eyes. He squints. “Isn’t today an off day?”

“There’s always time for cardio.” Viktor’s voice has an edge. “Is there any reason you don’t want to?”

Because he’s exhausted. Because everything hurts. “No, it’s fine.”

The air is clear and bright, with only a faint hint of autumn chill bleeding in at the edges. They make their way over to the winding vertical path, and as Yuuri begins to climb his focus narrows down to the stone steps and the sound of each footfall as it hits. Viktor stands at the bottom, face unsmiling, instead of joining him.

Yuuri makes it through two full runs up and down, stubbornly putting into each step every bit of stamina he has. His panting breath fills the air. Just before he can climb again, Viktor’s hand catches him in the shoulder, gently but firmly curling around his bicep.

“That’s enough.” He sounds tired.

“What’s–” It comes out breathy. Yuuri swallows. “What’s wrong?”

“Yuuri. Am I your coach?”

Yuuri is briefly concerned he pushed things too hard. “Yes?”

“And why is that?”

“What? I mean.” Yuuri bows reflexively. The breezy weather makes the sweat on his neck feel like ice. “I’m sorry, Viktor. What’s wrong?”

“I’m your coach because you trust me to help you win gold, right?” Viktor puts his other hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as well. His grip is firm but gentle.

“Yes, I trust you.” Yuuri makes the mistake of looking into Viktor’s clear blue eyes. He’s forced to glance away in face of the intensity there.

“Then you need to trust me enough to tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

Shame fills his heart like mud. He’d been so sure he was handling it, though. Yuuri’s posture deflates, the last shreds of stubborn pride that had pulled him through the morning dissipating into air. “Sorry.”

Viktor turns them both towards home. His hand is warm against Yuuri’s spine as they make their way to Yu-topia.

Viktor’s right, of course. Keeping things from him, and pushing himself too hard -- it’s all detrimental to his ability to win.

That afternoon and the next day, they take it easy. His illness retreats and is quickly forgotten in the build-up to their first international competition.

 

* * *

 

Later, face wet with tears in an underground garage in China, he thinks back to their conversation on the steps with a deeper understanding. Viktor wanted his trust, then.

“Just have more faith than I do that I’ll win! You don’t have to say anything. Just stay by my side!”

Yuuri needs Viktor’s trust, too. With that belief, that rock-solid faith, Yuuri can do anything, win anything: for Viktor, with Viktor, and for himself.

The crowd in the stadium is huge and loud, even through the layers of cement and distance. There isn’t much time. Yuuri is about to turn around and start walking to where they need to be when he’s stopped by Viktor’s steady hands on his cheeks, gently brushing away the tear tracks there.

He’s never cried _before_ a competition before, and it’s oddly calming. He’s still tight with stress, but it’s not at a boiling point anymore, more like energy coiled up tight. He’d read once that tears quite literally help your body push out a physical form of emotions, flushing the neurotransmitters responsible for the feelings out. It’s a little easier to breathe, and be peaceful and connected in his own skin.

Viktor’s eyes are such a bright, pure blue. As requested, he doesn’t say anything at all. If Yuuri hadn’t already been deeply and irrevocably in love with him, he’d have fallen again at the sincerity and trust there.

“Time to go,” Yuuri says, rubbing his face as he turns towards the exit. His eyes will still be red on the cameras, but that can’t be helped, not at this point.

Viktor stays close, an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, the warmth of his side against his own.

It isn’t until he’s on the ice that Yuuri realizes he hasn’t looked at the recent scores and can’t recall anything about the crowd on their way here.

As the first piano notes filter through the air, Yuuri glides across the ice, mind and heart full of what he wants.

 

* * *

 

They kissed. Yuuri refuses to look at his own phone, because it keeps buzzing and buzzing, and he’s buzzing enough internally already.

They _kissed._

“Yuuri?” Phichit waves a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of a daze.

“Ah, sorry!” Yuuri obediently leans in next to Phichit, fitting properly in-frame for a selfie together. His best friend takes ten or so in quick succession, and will select the best angle and filter later, with practised ease.

“So, how was it?” Phichit asks. His eyes are bright.

“Good,” Yuuri says. “Good.”

“Just good?” Phichit laughs. “Yuuri, come on.”

“Very good,” Yuuri concedes. Viktor is over speaking with someone from the RSF, and it’s hard to stop himself from glancing over every few moments.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Phichit says, giving him a brief hug and ruffling his hair.

“I’m happy for you too. Congrats on gold! You really made the music your own.” Phichit has grown so much in the months they’ve been apart, and seeing him skate to music he’s always wanted to makes him feel fiercely proud and a little bit lonely.

“Have you talked about--” Phichit starts to ask, but Yuuri waves his hand furiously.

“No, no,” God, he’s blushing. “No. Not yet.”

They’ll have to. It’s inevitable. Everyone has needs.

For now he can hope, for now he can pretend.

 

* * *

 

Their shared hotel room feels a lot smaller than it did in the morning. Yuuri’s not sure where to sit -- both the single beds have meanings he’s not quite ready for -- so he shuffles his luggage around then retreats to the bathroom to wash his face.

Viktor apparently has no such concerns, sitting on the bed and tapping merrily on his phone. “I’ve heard there’s an excellent restaurant about twenty minutes away. Shall I call a taxi?”

Yuuri’s eyes keep catching on Viktor’s lips. “I’m feeling tired. Would it be okay if we ate at the restaurant here?”

“If you’d like.” Viktor smiles wide. “All the other skaters will probably be dining there too. And the press. How lovely!”

Somehow, he hadn’t considered that. “Ah, then maybe we should go out.”

Viktor’s still wearing his suit, so Yuuri pulls his out as well, shucking his performance gear self-conciously and changing. His hair still has gel in it, but parts of his bangs are escaping the hold. Yuuri writes it off as useless.

The restaurant they arrive at is fancy enough that Yuuri’s glad for his suit, and quiet enough that no one they know should be able to bother them.

They should talk, Yuuri knows. Instead, he orders a cocktail.

Viktor raises an elegant eyebrow at him.

“I don’t like to drink _before_ competitions, afterwards is fine,” Yuuri explains.

“There’s still the exhibition.” Viktor says mildly, but he orders a cocktail too.

He’s skating _Stammi Vicino_ for his exhibition, something more practiced than even his own FS. Still, even though the exhibition is two days away, Yuuri promises himself that he’ll be reasonable with alcohol. Viktor hasn’t seen him drunk yet, and that’s a side of himself he doesn’t really want Viktor to know.

They’re sitting in a private booth in the back corner of the restaurant, on the same side of the table, thigh-to-thigh.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, after they’ve finished eating and the silence has stretched too long. He puts his hand very slowly over Yuuri’s on the table. “Tell me… if I’ve read this wrong.”

Yuuri flushes, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he laces their fingers together. Even Viktor’s fingernails are perfect, manicured and neat.

Viktor’s really here. This is reality.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “I mean, no, you’re not wrong.”

Viktor smiles and covers their entwined hands with his other hand. “Tell me what you need.”

Yuuri inhales sharply. It’s such a loaded demand! What he _needs._

“Whatever you’re comfortable giving me, that’s what I need.”

Viktor’s eyes sparkle. “I think we need a taxi back to the hotel.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is D/s-verse, so the aspects of this power dynamic are normalized in mainstream culture. As such, Viktor and Yuuri will not spend time in-text talking about roles in the way you may be used to in standard D/s, as it’s considered base knowledge taught in health class. There are universal safewords and safesymbols in every culture, in addition to personally negotiated ones.
> 
> **Additional chapter warning: Discussion of past pet death in a non-graphic way.**
> 
> Thank you very much to Ren ([lilithiumwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/)) for the beta! Love you!

Yuuri should be more freaked out. If this was anyone else in the world, he would be formulating ways to unbuckle his seatbelt and slide out of the moving taxi onto the street below without getting killed, just to avoid the thought of this intimacy and what it means.

But Viktor’s hand is on his own. The driver isn’t paying them any mind, and the few people on the empty streets can’t see through the tinted windows.

“How could you tell?” Yuuri asks. “About me.”

Viktor raises his elegant eyebrow. “Hmm. How could you tell about me?”

“Unfair,” Yuuri says. “I asked first.”

That causes a smile to curve his lips. “Let’s just say I’m used to being misread. And, well, you made it pretty obvious.”

“I did?”

Viktor blinks. “Well. Yes.”

“I’d always hoped,” Yuuri starts slowly, clumsily, “that I was hearing you right when you skated.”

Viktor rubs his thumb over Yuuri’s. “How so?”

Yuuri’s never had to express it in words before, and he takes a moment to think it through. Outside of the taxi, city lights pass by in flickers. There’s a pane of slightly dirty glass separating them from the driver, who’s listening to something on the radio in rapid Mandarin instead of paying them any mind.

“When you skate, you’re always, always telling a story. I’ve, um, been such a fan of the way you can lead the people watching you through feeling anything. You put it out there, and they’re under your control, helpless to look away.” Yuuri’s blushing, he can feel it. “And I appreciated so much that it’s always… it’s always a conversation. It’s not a show of force. I would get so angry that the media and commentators could never get it right, they were never talking about the right _things_ , they weren’t understanding--”

As the words tumble from his mouth, he feels how presumptuous they are. He puts his own hand to his lips to stop them. “Sorry.”

Viktor’s not looking at him. It’s hard to see his face in the dim of the cab. “Don’t be sorry.” Viktor says, voice strange. “Please, Yuuri, don’t be sorry. I’m honored you were paying such close attention.”

Viktor keeps his arm around Yuuri’s waist through the lobby, up the elevator, and down the hallway to their room.

It’s the same room as before. Twin beds. Yuuri skated his heart out today, on very little sleep, and by all rights he should be exhausted. Instead, his skin feels electric.

What should he be doing? Viktor’s calmly hanging up his coat. Yuuri takes off his scarf and folds it clumsily.

Luckily, miraculously, Viktor seems to hear him and understand. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get some rest.”

Contradictorily, a stab of disappointment flares up in his heart. Yuuri crosses his arms. “Right now?”

Viktor laughs. “Yes. Right now. I’m tired.” He rustles through his brand name suitcase and pulls out his very sparse pajamas, which are actually just black underwear. It feels like insult to injury.

“Yuuri?” Viktor pauses before slipping into the bathroom.

“Mmm?” He glumly pulls out his own pajamas.

“Push the beds together while I get ready.”

The task gives Yuuri focus, and the small nightstand in between the beds is simple enough to move, as are the beds themselves. He takes the thick hotel bedspread off of both, and is just triumphantly laying out one of the large extra sheets from the closet when Viktor steps out.

“Like this?” With the sheet laid out, it looks like a king bed.

“Yes, perfect. Now you get changed!”

He showers quickly, letting the water ground him. Yuuri’s pajamas consist of a gray t-shirt and some well-worn sweatpants with _DETROIT_ written in athletic block letters down the side. He plays absently with the frayed waistband as he brushes his teeth.

When he’s finished, only the nightlight is on in their room, and Viktor is laying on the bed. As always he is perfect, a sculpted tribute to the ideal athletic form, soft, smooth skin and firm muscles. He pats the space in front of him.

Yuuri crawls in. Viktor arranges him with steady hands so they’re face to face, their heads resting on the same fluffy pillow, and he tucks the sheet over them both.

Yuuri can scarcely breathe.

“So,” Viktor says. “Let’s talk about this.”

His responding laugh is shaky. “Okay.”

“I take it I’d be your first? Dom, that is.”

A furious blush creeps up his neck. The bold terms of dom and sub are rarely spoken aloud in Japanese culture, which focuses on actions and not words. That, and the rigid definition scarcely seems to fit what’s between them. “Yes. And, well. Everything.”

Viktor practically sparkles. “That was your first kiss?” “Yes.”

“Perfect.” He leans in to peck Yuuri on the nose.

“I’m not your first, though.” He’s not talking about something as simple as a kiss. A ridiculous jealousy fills his heart. If only he’d been born a little sooner, been able to skate on Viktor’s level faster…!

“No,” Viktor says. “Sadly, no. Not for any of it, although you’re the first person I’ve–how did you so eloquently put it?–the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold onto.”

“Ah.” As his neck flushes even redder, Yuuri regrets getting so carried away with a microphone in his face, as his own words come back at him. “I should have known the internet would translate that.”

“Absolutely!” Even now, Viktor is merciless.

Quiet falls between them. Yuuri wants to ask who these people are, the ones who got to experience Viktor’s control, but his jealous heart stops him.

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice draws him back in. “I really think you need this. To be honest, I need this too–but I won’t be doing anything with you because of a primal demand. I’ll be with you because I like being with _you_ , okay?”

The thought that Viktor could be so shallow with him hadn’t even crossed Yuuri's mind. “Okay.”

“Also, as your coach, I know just how absolutely disobedient you can be, Mr. Quad Flip. For this to work, you’re going to have to let me lead.”

The affirmative sticks in his throat. “It’s hard for me.”

“I know. I’ll help you.” Confidence holds up every word.

“Thank you.” Yuuri isn’t sure why, but he feels on the edge of tears.

Viktor reaches over him to turn off the nightstand light. “First thing’s first. Close your eyes, Yuuri.”

It hardly makes a difference in the dark. He closes them.

A gentle kiss is pressed to his forehead. “Now, go to sleep.”

It should be hard. They’re so close, so much has happened, he’s buzzing with all that’s going on.

Yuuri breathes deeply. Viktor lays a warm arm over his waist. From this position, he can feel Viktor’s soft inhales and exhales.

Peacefully, he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

It should be a huge recalibration in their relationship, but it isn’t. The medal ceremony and exhibition skate pass with Viktor’s casual touches–an arm around his waist, a hand on his shoulder–becoming more frequent, and their hotel beds remain pushed together until checkout.

Training resumes in earnest with Rostelecom right around the corner. While Yuuri is eager to explore the new dynamic between him and Viktor, skating comes first, and the resulting exhaustion means any more intimate relations are pushed to the wayside.

Yu-topia is even more slammed with business in the wake of Beijing. Yuuri spends more time helping his parents in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and washing plates, despite their protests. In their own way, the housekeeping tasks are relaxing work.

It isn’t polite to make a guest do chores, especially a guest that is coaching your son on a _don’t pay me now, we’ll figure it out later_ financial plan. Viktor is relentless, and as he blends into the family over the summer months, he’s been begrudgingly offered a few simple tasks.

“Should I bring all of these in here, Yuuri?” Viktor’s face can barely be seen around the stack of white seating cushions he’s carrying.

“Ah, yes please!” Yuuri rushes over to help as the stack in Viktor’s arms wobbles dangerously. The main dining area is undergoing a deep cleaning at the moment, and that necessitates putting furniture in the side room, which is usually just reserved for family.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, once the situation is under control and doesn’t seem like things will go flying. “Anything else?”

The small room is crowded with tables and other miscellaneous stacks: towels, papers, spare trays. “No, that should be it. I’ll let Mari know.”

It isn’t Viktor’s fault when he brushes the edge of a stack of cushions and they topple to the floor, knocking more things over on their way. It’s like a game of furniture dominoes, with a few crashes and clangs as the mess settles.

“Ah.” Viktor’s blue eyes are comically wide. Yuuri almost laughs.

“It’s okay.” Yuuri picks up a few trays and rights them. Viktor hurries to help.

Their small family altar was shuffled in the mess, and a small framed photo of Vicchan lays on the floor as a casualty, with its frame dinged. Yuuri picks it up and holds onto it for a bit too long, long enough that Viktor stops righting things and notices.

“What a cute poodle,” Viktor says. “What’s his name?”

“We called him Vicchan.” Yuuri doesn’t trust himself to speak more, and he brushes at the scuffed frame with his thumb. He sets it up again in its place, with another silent prayer of apology in his heart.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri has a very respectable success rate for the quad salchow, considering he only really got the hang of it after working with Yuri, and he’s been landing it well for weeks. Except that now, right before their next competition, it’s left him completely for no discernable reason. He has bruised hips and bruised pride, and he’s determined to land it at least _once._

“Yuuri.” Viktor sounds just as frustrated. “That’s enough.”

Yuuri, in full tunnel-vision, pretends he can’t hear him as he skates to the other side of the rink, through the set-up and almost directly into a messy sprawl on the ice.

_“Yuuri.”_

Yuuri wipes the sweat from his forehead and pulls himself back up. He wants to go again and knows it won’t be allowed, that he’s just not in the right place mentally to land it today, and that prickles at his skin with annoyance and disappointment.

“That’s enough for today.” Viktor’s voice has that edge of steel. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, coach,” Yuuri says, in a tone that is about as close as he’s capable of coming to insolent.

Viktor frowns. Yuuri immediately feels even worse. “Sorry.”

They skate to the door and Viktor hands him his blade covers. Yuuri slips them on. From the corner of his eye, he can see Viktor’s smile suddenly shine, bright and plastic. “You look like you need a vacation, Yuuri.”

A vacation is hardly possible with Rostelecom so close. Yuuri doesn’t want one anyway. He _wants_ to be landing his jumps properly again.

Viktor practically drags him out of the rink, and their walk home is completely silent. It isn’t until Viktor makes a turn towards the station and away from Yu-topia. Yuuri follows in his wake all the way to the part of town where there is a love hotel. Neon lights spell out the English name _Tropical Breeze_ on a background of peeling paint. Towering plastic palm trees add to the effect.

Oh. A vacation.

Yuuri’s hands feel clammy and his heart starts to beat double-time.

Viktor cheerfully drags him in and pokes his way through the menu touchscreen, selecting a room with the helpful pictures provided. Everything seems to have a deep island theme, dark browns and greens with bright splashes of color. Yuuri’s mind is everywhere at once, he can’t focus, he’s still frustrated. He’s never been in a love hotel before in his life.

Viktor meets his eyes before selecting their final purchase. Yuuri swallows and presses the final checkout button himself.

They climb up a winding staircase and down a short and thin hallway to their room, which is tropical themed, with faux palm trees and a very prominent bed. A wooden shelving unit has a wide range of supplies on display: massage oil, condoms, sealed toys in plastic hygienic pouches. Restraints.

“I’m taking a shower,” Yuuri says, the second the door is closed behind them. He retreats to the well-appointed bathroom, which is just as faux-tropical themed as the rest of the space, including mango, pineapple, and coconut bath supplies. The large free-standing tub is ringed by floor to ceiling mirrors.

A furious internal debate between putting his dirty practice clothes on again and wearing the provided robe results in the bathrobe claiming a slim victory.

When he emerges, Viktor looks up from his phone to blatantly check Yuuri out head to toe. “Wow~”

Viktor sets his phone facedown on the nightstand, strides over confidently enough to make Yuuri swallow in brief panic, and then slips behind him into the bathroom with a smile. “Such a good idea. I’ll be right back.”

Intending to text his parents and let them know he and Viktor won’t be home, Yuuri picks up his phone, only to see that Viktor has already sent a group message excusing them for “special training.” Hasetsu isn’t a huge town and it’s more than likely someone saw them go in here. The gossip may have already reached them.

Viktor comes out in his still-immaculate athletic gear, rather than a robe. Yuuri fights the urge to fiddle with the tie around his own waist, reasoning that they have seen each other naked in the onsen many, many times, and this is hardly on that level. Still, the power imbalance between them, which Yuuri rarely feels anymore, gapes wider. Viktor’s fully clothed and Yuuri is decidedly not.

The lights in the room are dim and the window is fully blocked by a thick privacy screen.

Viktor cups his cheeks and looks him in the eye. Yuuri squares his stance and meets him there, still. It takes everything he has.

“Yuuri. Has anyone ever taken you under before?”

With Viktor’s palms against his face, he can’t look away. The answer must be obvious in his eyes. “No, I haven’t been.”

Viktor was expecting that answer. “You aren’t honest with yourself about your feelings. When you bottle them up, it can be catastrophic, like in today’s case for your jumps. All you were doing was throwing yourself into the ice.”

Yuuri winces. “I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.”

“No. I’ll make sure you do better tomorrow. Stop worrying and give it all to me.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“We’ll see about that.” Viktor’s thumbs trace down his neck, over his pulse. “I’ve noticed you feel better after crying, like in China. As your dom, will you let me get you there?”

Yuuri swallows and knows Viktor can feel it. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” One of Viktor’s hands slides back to pet his hair, brushing through the strands at the base of his neck. “Take off that robe.”

It’s quite an escalation. They may bathe together in the onsen often, but this is decidedly different. Fighting himself and winning, Yuuri unties his robe with stiff fingers and exposes himself fully.

Viktor’s eyes rake up and down Yuuri’s form appreciatively. At least it’s mid-season and he’s in top physical form.

“Kneel right here,” Viktor says, patting a spot in the center of the bed.

 _Kneel._ He’s never knelt for anyone. Yuuri folds up in a proper seiza on the bed, heart trembling.

Viktor turns down the lights in the room, then, to Yuuri’s surprise, kneels in front of him on the comforter. He looks into Yuuri’s eyes, blue eyes serious, and places his palm at the nape of Yuuri’s neck again, this time applying firm pressure. “Close your eyes.”

Yuuri’s grateful to obey.

“You’re not allowed to talk about skating. Tell me about your dog.”

It’s the absolute last thing he expected. His eyes blink open involuntarily.

“No. Close your eyes.” Viktor increases the pressure on the back of his neck. Yuuri scrunches his eyes shut. “Tell me about Vicchan.”

Yuuri scrambles to think of something to say, but his mind feels blank. All he can focus on are the physical things: how cold the hotel room is, how stupid his stomach must look in this pose, his lips are chapped, his feet are hideously bruised. Viktor’s palm on his neck.

“He was my dog,” Yuuri says, halting and awkward, and even that simple statement fills him with emotion he isn’t prepared to deal with.

“When did you get him?” Viktor asks.

Will a conversation about Vicchan really help Viktor take him under? Subspace is a thing Yuuri has never trusted anyone else to pursue it with, and even though Viktor is the closest relationship he’s had in his life, his doubts are huge. He’d written it off as _not for me_ long, long ago.

“We got him from a breeder when I was twelve,” Yuuri says.

“Was he still a puppy?”

“Yes.” He had been so _small,_ the tiniest ball of curls. Tears pool from Yuuri’s closed eyes.

“Tell me about bringing him home.” Viktor’s voice is steady.

“I was so excited. I’d begged my parents for months, and the breeder had sent us a few photos, but actually meeting him was the best. I named him Vicchan right away.”

“Why’d you name him Vicchan?”

Yuuri winces, and is aware that Viktor can feel him do so. He’d really hoped to dodge that question. “I read a magazine article about you and Makkachin and wouldn’t leave my parents alone until I had a poodle too, just like you did. H-his full name was Viktor.”

 _“Yuuri.”_ Viktor presses his forehead against Yuuri’s.

Under Viktor’s steady questioning, it all comes out. How he didn’t have a lot of friendships but he did have his dog, how much Vicchan loved dried squid, how Vicchan would always be waiting for him when he got back from school or skating. It’s hard to get the words out, but with Viktor breaking it down into simple questions, the full story emerges. Including the terrible news he’d received in Sochi. Despite having not cried about it in months, talking about it with Viktor likes this reduces him to helpless sobs.

As he talks, Viktor runs his warm hands over Yuuri's shoulders and arms, with firm, even pressure. He traces the same path each time, rhythmic.

A few more stories come out. The time Vicchan had chewed the edge of his limited edition Viktor merch. The time Mari had taken him to the groomers and asked for a ridiculous cut that looked like a mohawk. The time Sagan Tosu had advanced to the finals and Yuuri’s dad had him wear a tiny jersey for two weeks.

Viktor asks more questions but his responses become few and far between. It feels like by pulling these memories up, he’s handing something painful to Viktor and leaving behind only the happy parts. And through it all, Viktor’s warm hands pet him slowly, keeping him warm.

After Yuuri’s tears have dried, Viktor’s hand returns to his nape. “So tell me about today’s practice.”

The topic shift takes him by muted surprise -- the world, which was feeling farther away, looms closer for a moment.

“Bad.” Simple words are enough. “Can’t land it.”

“And why is that?”

Isn’t _that_ a question. Yuuri shakes his head.

Viktor’s grip on his neck stays firm. “Yuuri. I know you will land it in competition. I don’t have the slightest doubt. Am I the type to give empty praise?”

“No, Viktor.”

“That’s right. My praise you get, you’ve earned. My belief in you is solid. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Viktor.”

“What were you thinking today, right before takeoff?”

The rink seems so very far away. It takes serious effort to recall that tangled swirl of emotions.

“Competition’s soon. No time to fail.”

 _“No one_ lands 100% of their jumps, and it’s ridiculous to expect yourself to.”

If he doesn’t do well at Rostelecom, everything they’ve worked so hard for can disappear, everyone who’s worked so hard to support him will be let down. “I want to win.”

“You will.” Viktor kisses his forehead, then rests there with his lips brushing his temple. His arms come up around him tight and steady. “You’re strong, and you’re talented, and my records aren’t anywhere near safe, Yuuri.”

It’s like he and Viktor are the only things in the world. The tears come again harder and don’t stop, and he cries unrestrained, uncaring that his face is probably red and ugly, that the sound of his sobs is disgusting and weak, he cries and cries until the world is quiet and empty except for them. Viktor holds him through it.

Barely aware of what’s happening, Yuuri leans in closer to Viktor’s warmth, clinging tight. The pressure of Viktor’s arms makes Yuuri feel like he’s at the bottom of the ocean, and he drifts there, feeling and accepting his pain.

Yuuri doesn’t know how much time passes, only that when awareness comes back, his chest feels hollowed out, empty but strangely light. Viktor must feel the change in him.

“Yuuri?” His voice is tentative.

Yuuri blinks his eyes open and squints against the light. There’s a blanket around them both, which he doesn’t remember happening.

“Hello,” Viktor says.

Yuuri tries to say it back but his mouth is terribly dry for some reason so it comes out raspy. “‘Lo.”

“How are you feeling?”

A small shift in pose makes his legs go full pins-and-needles -- he’s been in this pose for far too long. His face is sticky with dried tears, but other than that, he feels much better. Floaty but safe. It takes him longer than normal to line up the words, but Viktor seems content to wait for his response, even if it comes out a little slurred. “Good. Like I could land every quad right now.”

“All of them! Perfect. That’s what I like to hear.” Viktor snuggles against his neck. “How did you like subspace?”

The full reality of what he just slipped into comes to him. _It worked!_

A smile overtakes his face. “I loved it. I loved it so much. Thank you, Viktor.”

Viktor looks just as thrilled. “Do you feel up to dinner?”

At Yuuri’s nod, Viktor shifts slightly to grab the remote and order a close approximation of their diet plan as he can. Yuuri comes up out of subspace slowly, no longer feeling like he’ll break apart without Viktor’s touch.

Food arrives with a respectful knock at the door. Vikor kisses his forehead, then goes to get the food, which comes on a nice tray with flowers. The available options on their dietary plan were quite slim, so it’s light grilled fish, rice, and a bright fruit salad.

Viktor feeds him, and they put something relaxing on the tv. After dinner, Viktor manages to shuffle him through the shower and into the bath without letting go of him, which is impressive. The various sex toys and supplies remain on their shelf. Maybe next time.

 _Someone I want to hold onto. Someone I wish I never had to let go._ Yuuri swears in the deepest part of his heart that he’ll make Viktor this happy for as long as Viktor will let him.

In the morning, after warm-ups, Yuuri skates a perfect quad salchow once, twice, three times, and they’re both equally overjoyed.


End file.
